Chapter 8

Tony watched as Tim fell asleep and then, he turned his attention to the kitchen. Tim could wait for breakfast until he wasn't hurting so much, but Tony needed to eat. His stomach was growling. So he started making himself some food and he thought about Tim's current state. Clearly, he wasn't ready to do much physically, and the pain had kept him from talking much. Tony had the feeling that Tim could either think or move, but not both to any significant degree. He was still healing, but the fact that he had made it through a shower. That was good.

Right?

No, it is good. Tim couldn't have done that a few days ago, and now, he is. He's getting better. Another...day? Week? And he'll be able to think a lot more.

Tony really hoped that he was right. This was so frustrating. Tim was tantalizingly close to being normal and that meant that maybe he'd remember what was going on and they could make a logical decision about whether or not it was safe to contact anyone.

And maybe soon, Tim could have a real conversation and Tony wouldn't feel like he was going to start beating his head against the wall.

He made himself breakfast and sat, facing Tim as he ate. Tim was starting to be aware enough to try and do things on his own that he might not be able to do and Tony didn't want Tim re-injuring himself because he was trying to do too much. He didn't think he could take it if Tim started to get worse instead of better.

Tim didn't stir at all while Tony had his breakfast. After he finished eating, Tony meticulously cleaned up the kitchen area and then settled down to wait for Tim to wake up. He'd have to clean up the kitchen again after Tim ate, but that didn't matter. It would take up time.

He didn't have long to wait. Whether it was hunger or just because he didn't need as much sleep time as he had before, Tim woke up and lay where he was without moving. Instantly, Tony walked over to check on him.

"Ready for breakfast, Tim?" he asked.

Tim closed his eyes and Tony could see the reluctance to feel the pain again, but he was glad when Tim nodded and started trying to sit up. Tony helped him and then paused to let Tim get used to the different position. There was clearly still some healing that needed to happen inside his head.

But it's okay. It's getting better, Tony said to himself.

Then, Tony got Tim to his feet and helped him over to the table. Tim sat down, looking unhappy and in pain, but he didn't say anything about it. Tony just focused on getting breakfast ready quickly so that Tim could eat and then lie down again with a pain pill (at a lower dosage, now) that would help him. Then, later on, maybe in the afternoon, Tim would be ready for his exercises.

Tim ate without speaking, and while he was obviously in some pain, he ate everything in front of him. Then, he flexed his fingers a little and winced. Tony hadn't realized that Tim's hands were hurting in addition to everything else. Why his hands?

"Ready to get back to bed?" Tony asked.

Tim closed his eyes and nodded.

"Okay."

He helped Tim stand and was happy to note that Tim was trying to carry some of his own weight. He wasn't doing it very well, but he was trying. They got back to the bed and Tony lowered him down. To his surprise, Tim resisted being laid down on the bed. He sat instead. He sat there, breathing heavily and then, slowly, painfully, he manuevered himself around to lay down. He got there and let out a long exhale.

"Did it myself," he said, softly.

Tony grinned. "Yes, you did. Good job, Tim."

Tim smiled a little and then sighed.

"I hate this," he whispered.

"Yeah. Me, too," Tony said.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"I am."

Tony laughed a little. Yes, Tim was getting back to himself with that kind of response.

"I know."

"What now?"

"Now, you take your pill, rest up and get ready to do your exercises later today."

"It wasn't this hard before."

"You hadn't been beat up before."

Tim shook his head slowly and then after a few minutes, he was quiet, breathing deeply and evenly. He must be asleep, although Tony didn't dare assume that, not anymore.

"Don't worry, Tim," he said, softly. "It's getting better."

Then, he turned his attention back to the kitchen and cleaned it until he couldn't clean anymore.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Thankfully, when Tim awakened the next time, he was alert and ready...at least, that was what he seemed to be. Tony helped him with his exercises, and that tired Tim out, yet again. He fell asleep again. Tony sat around, made dinner, helped Tim eat, helped him back to bed, and they both went to sleep.

That was the routine for the next few days. Tim got a little better every day, but he didn't say much, still. Tony didn't know how to take that, really. It was a definite improvement over his panicked mumbling from before, but it wasn't the kind of recovery he wanted Tim to have. It kept him wondering what was going on in Tim's head (if anything). He just wanted to have things get better than they were.

Then, suddenly, they did.

It was late in the afternoon and Tony was thinking about what he'd make for dinner. Tim was sleeping. The exercises that were building up his muscles again tired him out.

Tony was facing the kitchen, thinking about what was in the cupboards and whether or not he should wait and let Tim make a decision (or see if he even could).

He heard movement from behind him and he turned around to find Tim sitting up, staring at his hands. He was slowly flexing his fingers. From the expression on his face, that still hurt him, but it didn't look like the agony it had been.

"Tim?" he asked tentatively.

Tim looked up.

"They stepped on my hands," he said softly. He looked back at his hands.

"What?"

"The first hit. It was my head. I fell. I tried to crawl away. They stepped on my fingers to stop me. Then, they picked me up and starting beating me. I tried to fight back. I hit them. I scratched at them. Anything I could do, but I couldn't think straight. And then...after a while, all I could feel was pain. They laughed at me. Told me that no one would ever know who I was. They were going to kill me, and leave me looking so bad that no one would even be able to tell that I was a human being, and I'd be alive to feel all that, until they finally finished me off."

"They didn't," Tony said, keeping his voice soft. If Tim was remembering things, he wanted to encourage it, but he didn't know what would be best.

"And I knew that they'd get to Gibbs if I tried to get to him. I knew that they'd kill Gibbs like they were going to kill me. I knew that, if I couldn't say who they were, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be able to get away and kill me later."

Tim fell silent again. Tony waited for a few minutes, hoping that Tim would keep talking.

"I couldn't get away from them, and I really tried. I tried so hard, but I didn't. When I realized that I was alive, I knew that I had to make sure I didn't have to go through this again. I knew that I had to stay safe."

And without a complete memory, he'd be at risk. Tony understood now what Tim had meant about not going back. He had been terrified that his life would literally be over if he went back there. If his mind had been working normally, he would have been able to decide if the benefits outweighed the risks of returning. But it wasn't. It was just starting to now.

"What about Gibbs?" he asked in a low voice.

"We had a safehouse, somewhere we could hide if it got too hot. But I don't know why he'd be there, now."

"Will he have gone back?"

"If it's safe."

"Do you think it is?" Tony asked, almost whispering in his effort to guide Tim's thoughts and not startle him.

"I had all the data," Tim said.

That seemed to be a bit of a non sequitur, but then, Tim kept going.

"Without that, we don't know who did it, who was involved."

"Didn't you see anyone?"

Tim looked at him again.

"Did I?" Tim asked, his voice distant. "I don't remember people. I remember monsters."

"Did you see them?"

"Only monsters," Tim said again.

Tony was about to get frustrated, but then, he realized what Tim was saying. The first hit had been to his head. That he could share as much as he had so far was pretty amazing. He remembered the attack.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

Good. A response.

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"I drove. They shot out the tires. That's why I didn't make it. Gibbs told me to leave, but I didn't get out in time."

"How many were there?"

"Too many."

Of course.

Tim was quiet, staring at his hands for a while, but then, suddenly, he looked up, his eyes wide.

"What? What is it, Tim?"

"A phone. I need...a phone."

"Why? I thought you didn't want to call anyone. That it wasn't safe."

"It isn't."

"Okay... want to unpack that for me?"

"I can call Gibbs!"

"How?"

"He had a burn phone, and I'm the only one with the number. I threw away the burn phone I had to make sure they didn't get it. But...I just remembered the number! I can call Gibbs! ...if he has his phone."

"What are the odds of that?"

"I don't know."

Tony didn't like the odds here. It had been almost two months since Tim had been attacked. If Gibbs had gone to ground, would he really keep his phone on him, even a burn phone? At the same time, this was a chance to break the impasse they were stuck in at the moment. Tim was suggesting it himself, and that made Tony want to do it just because of that. His phone had been off, and he hadn't even charged it up, in the hopes of keeping their location secret. Now, he got his phone charger, plugged it in and, after a few minutes, there was enough charge to hand it over to Tim.

"Okay," Tony said. "Try it."

Tim flexed his fingers slightly, and Tony knew that Tim was probably afraid of going through it all again. He was afraid that revealing his location, even potentially, would lead to a repeat of what he'd suffered.

But it was time for something to change.

"Take it, Tim," Tony said, holding out the phone.

Tim swallowed and nodded. He reached out and took the phone. He stared at it for a few seconds. Tony tried not to rush him.

Then, he started to dial. And he stopped part way through.

"What if I'm wrong?" Tim asked.

"You're not. Go on."

There was a long pause.

"I don't know if I've ever been more scared of doing something...and it's so stupid that I am."

"No. It's all right. Just do it. Nike."

Tim laughed a little. And finished dialing.

Then, he lifted the phone to his ear.

"It's ringing," he whispered.

"Let it go," Tony said.

Silence.

"It's still ringing," Tim said. "Maybe, I should hang up. Maybe, it's too risky."

"Let it ring," Tony said. "Just let it ring."

Tim sat there, his eyes wide with fear. He wanted to end this before he was found, whether that was likely or not.

"Let it ring, Tim."

Then, Tim looked at him.

"Someone answered."

"McGee."

Tony heard it and it was like a tonic. Tim put the phone on speaker.

"Boss," Tim said.

"Where have you been? It's been two months!"

"He was almost killed, Boss," Tony said.

There was a long pause.

"DiNozzo."

"Yes. That's me."

Another long pause.

"What in the world are you doing with McGee?"

"Keeping me alive, Boss," Tim said.

"What happened?"

"They found me. I screwed up."

"How did Tony get involved? You weren't supposed to be involved in this, DiNozzo."

"Thanks, Boss," Tony said, sarcastically.

"Tony."

"I told someone to call him," Tim said. "I don't know why. I don't remember doing it."

Tim looked ashamed and still afraid. Suddenly, Tony decided that Gibbs needed to understand what had been going on. He had no right to berate Tim, especially with the state that Tim was still in. He took the phone from Tim's slack fingers and turned off the speaker.

"Boss, you have no idea what's been going on here," he said.

"Tony, he's right," Tim said, softly, looking at his hands again.

"No, he's not," Tony said, firmly, and turned away so that Tim couldn't hear everything. "You hear that, Boss? You're not right."

"Explain."

"For a month, Tim was barely coherent. He wasn't talking or when he did talk, I could barely understand him. He would freak out and start mumbling and I couldn't understand him at all. The doctor said that he'd had swelling on his brain and internal bleeding. He was so bad that I didn't think he could possibly have survived it. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, scared out of his mind and it'd take me over an hour to calm him down because he wasn't coherent enough to tell me what was wrong. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I was bathing him, feeding him, being his nurse and hating every second of it, but I did it because I didn't know what was going on and neither did Tim. He only knew that he was scared to death of going back. We tried calling you the second Tim remembered that there was a number to try calling. He's still not really back to normal. He's scared. He's slower than he should be. He's in pain. So don't start lecturing either of us. You have no right. We've been doing the best we can."

Another long silence and Tony worried that he'd gone too far.

"That would explain why I couldn't find him."

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I went to ground when McGee called me. I waited at the safehouse for a few days and then I started looking for him. I saw the story in the paper, but he wasn't at the hospital when I got there."

"How long?"

"About a week after."

"They tried to kill him right after I got there. Then, I took him out of the hospital and we've been hiding since then."

"Didn't dare contact anyone. Sent a message to Fornell, said I wasn't coming back until I found out what happened to McGee."

"And now?"

"Now, bring McGee back into it."

"Okay."

Tony walked back over to Tim who was justing sitting there, staring at him. He still looked afraid. Tony didn't blame him. He knew that Tim wasn't fully recovered yet and his ability to react to the trauma without panic was affected.

"It's okay, Tim. I brought Gibbs up to speed."

Tim actually smiled as if he knew exactly what Tony meant. Tony grinned back, set the phone down and put it on speaker again.

"Okay, Boss."

"I'm sorry, Tim," Gibbs said.

"You were right," Tim said. "I stayed too long. I shouldn't have called Tony. It was my fault."

"No, it's not." Another pause. "I'm just glad you're still alive."

"What now?" Tony asked. "Do we come to you?"

"No. I'll come to you. It'll take some time. You just focus on remembering everything, McGee. The important stuff. The people involved. We need to be able to move once I get there."

"I'm not remembering it all, Boss," Tim said.

"Doesn't matter. Remember what you can. Focus on that. Everything else can wait. We need names, McGee. We need something so that we can get out of this. It should never have come to this in the first place. Fornell owes us both big time."

"How do I remember?"

"Just try. If you can, you will." There was a pause. "Do you feel secure enough to give me the address?"

Tony looked at Tim who looked terrified at the very thought.

"I don't know, Boss. Tim's not happy about that."

"I'm not either. Can't be sure that we're secure, but I can't get to you if I don't know where you are."

"Yeah. I know." Tony looked at Tim again. "What do you think, McGee? Ready to take a risk?"

Tim shook his head, just a little bit.

"Ready to do it anyway?" Tony asked, smiling.

He was relieved when Tim smiled back.

"Okay, Boss," Tony said. "You ready?"

"Ready."

Tony gave the address.

"How long will it take you to get here?"

"Give me three days."

"And if you don't show up?"

"Then, get down to DC and go directly to Vance. No one else. Don't go to NCIS. Go to Vance."

"Should we go now?"

"No. Wait for me. Three is better than two."

"Right. Okay, Boss," Tony said.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" Tim asked.

"I'm sorry."

"No apologies," Tim said softly.

"Well, Fornell definitely owes you one. I won't call again, so don't bother with your phone. Don't call this number again. Just in case."

"Three days," Tony said.

"Exactly."

Then, Gibbs hung up. Tony hung up and turned off his phone again.

"Three days, Tim," Tony said, feeling more excited than he had in ages.

Tim nodded slowly, not really looking excited at all.

"Come on, Tim! Be excited!" Tony said. "Or at least, stop looking like your life is ending. Gibbs is going to get here. We're going to go home."

"But I don't remember, Tony," Tim whispered. "I don't remember."

"You've started remembering things. More will come. I know it. If you remember getting beat up, you'll remember the stuff from before it."

Tony had no idea if he was making stuff up, but he was willing to do so just to be encouraging.

"You want to go home," Tim said.

"Yeah. Don't you?"

"Will I be able to?"

Tony stifled a sigh. He really did understand Tim's lack of excitement, but he wanted to be able to be happy about this getting over. He couldn't with Tim looking so morose.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't you?"

"If I can't remember, then, I won't be able to go home. I'll have to be...protected."

Tony hadn't thought of that, but he wasn't going to let Tim ruin this.

"You'll remember. Gibbs told you to. You'll remember."

"I don't know."

"I do. You remembered Gibbs' phone number. You remembered what happened. You'll remember what you found, too."

Tim nodded, but he still didn't seem very enthusiastic. Tony sat down, gearing himself up to be encouraging while wanting to smack Tim into a better mood.

"Tim, it's going to work out. I promise. You've been getting better and better every day. Just keep it up and that's all you need to do."

Tim nodded again.

"For now, I'm going to make dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yep. It's time to eat and a momentous occasion like this doesn't mean we skip a meal."

Tony nodded and forced himself to smile. He was rewarded with a slight smile from Tim. He'd take what he could get. So he went to the kitchen and started to pull out some ingredients to make pasta.